


Last Time We Were Here

by mrs_meloncholy



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Relationship Study, hint of plot, safe royed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 17:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17605745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_meloncholy/pseuds/mrs_meloncholy
Summary: It’s unfortunate, really, that Edward both hates and likes having Roy worry over him. He hates that he’s bored out of his mind, he hates being treated like a glass doll, or an incompetent rookie, and he hates that Roy’s feeling—whatever it is exactly that he’s feeling, because it can’t be good.But he likes knowing Roy cares about him. Edward suspected the bastard was just trying to keep him out of firing range because of—last time.





	Last Time We Were Here

**Author's Note:**

> WOW it's been, uh..... over a year, huh. Gee Golly Gosh Guys. I'm back, a little.
> 
> In my head, this precedes my other story Big Decisions, and if I ever write anything between the two, I'll actually make it a series but for now they're too separate for that. Also, there are some descriptions of violence that I figured I should tag for, but for me it's mild, and nothing worse than Ed being impaled in the show so.
> 
> I've had this around in the ol' docs for a while, it was titled roy'sgotfeelingswooowoowowow. I hope you like it!!!!!!!

 

Ed tapped his foot, waiting for newly promoted Major General Bastard to sift through his report of the latest mission he’d been stuck with. It was a menial, tedious thing, and Edward suspected the bastard was just trying to keep him out of firing range because of—last time.

_Overprotective bastard_. Ed snapped his head to glare at the wall, and tapped his foot a little faster.

“Fullmetal, you’re welcome to sit down if you’d like.”

Edward gritted his teeth, “Why is it I have to _be_ here for this? You wouldn’t even tell me what this guy did, just stuck me sorting through his piles of bullshit alchemy.” He said, and crossed his arms, keeping his automail foot tapping in a steady beat. He could see annoyance in the twitch of Roy’s right eye.

“What he did was never important to your assignment, now either sit down and wait for me to review this, or I’ll have you rewrite it _legibly_ , so you don’t have to be here for this.” Mustang said, without looking up.

Ed bristled and sat as violently as one could in the scratchy office chair on the other side of Roy’s desk, promptly kicking his feet up on the edge of the desk, “You’ve had seven years to get used to my handwriting, Mustang, that excuse is a bit worn out.”

“Implying I make excuses just to bore you?” Mustang turned the page, scribbling something down on a paper below him without even looking.

“ _Yes_. Of course you do, why else would you put me in a fucking hoarder’s study for three days, and then make me waste my time hanging around here while you read my _perfectly legible_ report?” Edward asked, and huffed, “You’ve got excuses to piss me off coming out of your ears, bastard, don’t deny it.”

Roy looked up at that, finally, eyes narrowed, lips pursed, “You know very well that’s not why I gave you this assignment, Fullmetal.” The thinly veiled hurt in his expression made Ed’s jaw loosen.

He stared for a second before his shoulders fell and he looked away, “C’mon, Mustang,” He started, voice losing the angry roughness, dipping to softness as he leaned a little closer, “You can’t keep shoving me in a desk just because I got roughed up a little, I-”

Roy looked away, his expression forcefully blank, “We’re not having this conversation again, Edward-”

“You’re the one who brought it up!”

“Because you somehow still subscribe to the belief that every assignment I give you is just to inconvenience you.”

“That’s not what I meant, Mustang, you know goddamn well what I meant.”

“No, as a matter of fact, I don’t. You’re dismissed.”

Edward glared, and burst from his chair, “I didn’t come back for this!”

Roy’s eyes shut with the bridge of his nose pinched between gloved fingers, “ _Dismissed, Major_!”

And the door slammed behind him.

 

The sun was warm this time of year, the breeze laced with the last of winter’s chill. It was a pleasant combination, even if often times it led to achy automail ports. There were leaves coming back to the trees like a new colour to the city, and if you sat in the sun long enough, the warmth almost felt like summer, but the shadows felt like fall. Growing up, his favourite season was winter, because the snow fell in waves out in Resembool, and Alphonse always got so excited about their birthdays.

Now—sitting on a bench with his feet stretched in front of him, legs crossed at the ankle over military standard boots, arms folded behind his head for support—Edward could say that spring was his favourite season. He loved the warmth after months of miserable cold, and he loved the colours all around him when the trees finally grew back into themselves; flowers, birds, _smiles_. Spring was the best for happiness.

Yet on this beautiful April afternoon, he felt like shit.

He was still nursing wounds, so going about his usual pent-up-anger-sparring with Al wouldn’t help ease his stress. Hence why he had taken to sunbathing in the park.

It had been a good three weeks since he’d gotten back from his last out of city assignment, and Edward wished Mustang had spent that time getting over it, rather than sulking. It wasn’t even _that_ _bad_ , really. A few cracked ribs, fractured wrist, busted automail, moderate concussion, miscellaneous scrapes and bruises—the usual. Nothing out of the ordinary for the crazy missions he’s sent on.

It was probably the conversation he and Mustang had when he got back, that spurred this all.

_“I get the shit beat out of me every single time! It’s my job! I go and do your dirty work like a good dog, bastard, and you can tell me where and when, but don’t you fucking dare try to tell me_ **_how_** _, because that’s the only goddamn choice I get in this!”_

Yes, well, in hindsight, _probably_ not the best thing to say to someone with a guilt complex equal size to your own, but Ed had been nauseous on meds at the time, and stuck in the hospital, which always made his skin crawl and—he just hadn’t thought. The result was this; stuck in libraries and shoved at a desk, with nothing to do, and nowhere to go, all because his idiot bastard felt responsible.

Edward’s eyes opened at that thought, and he blinked at the tufts of clouds passing overhead. **_The_ ** _idiot bastard._

Then again, he did come back to the military for the bastard, so maybe he has some right to stake a claim. Just like Riza and Maes can, and the rest of the team too. Mustang isn’t really his own person anymore is he? He’s more so like a human timeshare, with bits of himself sold to everyone there to help him, everyone who sold their own life for the cause too, and the majority of him to the whole of Amestris itself.

_Why did I come back_?

He’s asked himself this so many times that the answer has changed from one liners, to paragraphs and monologues in his head.

It started with; To help.

And has thus lead to, in summation; Because I _need_ to be needed. Alphonse even said it once, in the week after Edward told him he was going to re-enlist, and continue with his contract, working the same shitty job he had complained about for the six years he’d been doing it.

Al had said, “Your altruism needs an outlet, and General Mustang is the perfect funnel for all your selflessness to be directed in the right places.”

It’s true, too. Without the bastard to tell him the wheres and whens, he just sort of… traipses through life, eventually tearing himself apart with his own brain. He needs constant stimulation of one sort of another. Even the months in Resembool helping Al recover were a kind of throbbing agony. His muscles burned, his heart skittered, and his brain told him to _go_ , but all he ended up doing was making Al chicken broth, and watching him fall in love with Winry. It was great, he’d never say otherwise, but the sheer enormity of what had happened started sinking in, and he realised how many people’s lives had been ruined in the battle in Central, how far Mustang still needed to go.

He wanted to help, and when he thought of doing something _good_ , he thought of Mustang, and something in his chest just kind of twisted and pulled too tight, and down the line he got it in his head that he wanted to re-enlist.

He had asked for this, he knew what he was doing, he knew he’d make it out alive, couldn’t the bastard stop fussing?

Edward frowned, and sat up a little straighter, putting his hands in his pockets and glaring across the small park at a peculiar tree down the street. Now look where it all got him. The bastard was all twisted up, and was taking it out on him. His wrist was fine by now, and his automail had been fixed the minute he got off the damn train. He had some bruises, and his ribs ached when he took too deep of a breath, but he was good to do something other than— _this_.

“Brother!”

Ed blinked away his absent glare, and looked over to see Alphonse and Winry walking over. The latter had a hand on her stomach, the small baby bump giving her a slight pudge. Ed upturned his head in acknowledgement, but waited for the two to come up before speaking.

Al beat him to it, “Hughes invited us over for dinner tonight,” He smiled happily, a hand on Winry's waist, “General Mustang will be there.”

Ed grumbled, disappointed that that’s what dragged his brother after him, “Tell her I politely decline. Don’t wanna spend a second more than necessary with that bastard.”

Al’s cheerful smile dropped with his shoulders, “Brother, you can’t keep being like this-”

“ _Me_ being like this? It’s him! He needs to get the fuck over it and give me a mission I can actually _do_. No more fucking desk work or filing, or helping out the goddamn police. Do I look like an MP to you?” He asked, bitter and frustrated.

Winry huffed, “No, you look like a petulant toddler. You can’t avoid your boss, Ed, and you need this sort of a break. You’re still hurt, and besides, the general shouldn’t send you alone on such dangerous missions anyway, if you would-”

Ed stood up, “I go alone, and that’s the end of the fucking story, all right? I already fucking told him this, and you too! I’m not going to be told how to do my job, I _know_ what I’m doing.” He snapped, and shook his head when Winry just frowned, and Al ran a hand over his face.

“Brother-”

“Stop, Al. I’ll see you guys later, tell Elicia I’ll stop by sometime this week.” He interrupted, and turned to walk away.

“Edward!”

 

There was something about Mustang himself that got to him. It used to rub him the wrong way, back when Edward was a naive 15 year old who couldn’t see anything but black and white; saw the way someone acted and didn’t stop and bother to think about what could twist that action around to find the motive. He saw black and white and made his judgements.

Something in the way the man spoke with that stony affect, his voice dripping authority between every syllable. Ed could tell something was missing from his expression, or maybe it was that there was _too much_ there, but never before did he catch what it was.

Now, he had a few guesses. There were moments sometimes, when he caught glimpses of the shadow of a person beneath Colonel Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist. That day, the day of the coup, Edward had finally after four years of barely seeing the outline of his personality, saw the man to the very core of who he was, and a part of himself carved a spot right then for the desire to see every facet of Roy Mustang. That iron mask he wore could be broken, and those dark eyes can fill with such emotion like Ed has never seen. Ed _wants_ to see that.

The person Edward saw beneath was truly breathtaking when he thought about it for long enough, though he tries not to think about it at all. All along, every step of the way Roy was helping them, keeping them safe and keeping them useful, while allowing them to research to their heart’s content. Not to say he wasn’t using it to his own advantage, but his advantage was Ed’s own advantage in the end; they were both trying to save the world. The person behind the Flame Alchemist, the Hero of Ishval, was someone Edward very much agreed with, but he came to realise that there were only two people in the world that were allowed to see Roy in entirety; Maes Hughes, and Riza Hawkeye.

Ed found out he wanted to be on that list the minute he stepped into the freshly promoted brigadier general’s office.

But now… all that’s turned around on him, because being a member of Team Mustang grants you the Mustang Subordinate Worry, and Ed has apparently maxed his limit. He doesn’t quite know why the bastard worries over every bump and bruise when Ed’s into adulthood, and why the man sent him from the hospital to the train station regularly when he was barely 14. As much as he’s glad to have earned it, another person worrying over him is the last thing Ed needs.

“You’ll be investigating some transmutation circles and coded text found in a few rooms of an abandoned building,” The general hands him a file, and Ed hears _more boring decoding and array analysis_ , “The building was used as a private lab for Central University, though it was shut down some years ago because of an accident with one of the experiments. Deadly chemical leak, ensuing cover up, and forced shut down years later.”

Ed raised an eyebrow, “There’s been cleanup?”

“Of course,” Roy assured, leaning back in his chair and twirling a pen in one of his hands, “This all was discovered by the alchemists coming in to finish cleanup and hopefully reopen the laboratory for the college. They’ve finished transmuting any traces of the chemicals to benign compounds already.”

Edward’s eyes scan the file, seeing photos from the scene. It looked like someone had been sneaking in to use the laboratory without anyone knowing. The arrays have been written in code, the notes are in code, painted across the walls and even along the floor. The pictures showed years worth of work, and though it was interesting, and he wanted to know what the arrays shown were _for_ , it looked like another mission to cage him in Central, not to mention something any other alchemist in the city could do.

He looked up with an unimpressed expression, “This is all the work you have for me?” Ed asked, and watched Roy’s eyes narrow, “Just more note taking and puzzles? This is fucking boring.”

He caught Roy’s jaw tightening, and the narrowed eyes looked down to an open file in front of him, feigning indifference, “I’m afraid it’s the only thing to come across my desk.”

“Should I check Hawkeye’s then?”

Mustang glanced up at him, beginning to look irritated, “You’ve been given your assignment, Fullmetal, now go do it.”

Ed gritted his teeth, stepping forward with the papers clenched in his hands, “If you’re passing off assignments meant for me, and giving me this instead, I’ll be fucking pissed, bastard.”

Roy was snapping at him now, “If I have given you an assignment in favour of another, it is because I decided you would be better suited for that assignment, _Major_ ,” Mustang stood from his desk, looking down at him, and Ed held his glare, “You’ve been given your orders, you’re dismissed,”

Ed was seething, and he turned on his heal with the file thrown to the floor behind him, knowing all he really needed was an address.

“Fullmetal!” Mustang shouted after him.

 

Surrounded by a tall brick wall and behind an iron wrought gate, the building was taped off, but there were no guards standing outside so getting in was as easy as transmuting the lock open. Ed ducked his head under the yellow tape and shut the door behind him.

His nose prickled at the dust, eyes adjusting to the murk in the rundown lab before he could see anything at all. The windows had long since been boarded up, and the light bleeding in from the cracks was all there was to illuminate the building. He was in a small reception area, and it looked as though one day, everyone had just left everything behind, with crusted mugs on desks, and paperwork still open on their surfaces.

As he walked, he kicked up dust, wafting through the air like fog. Everything was covered in it, the shelves, the desks, the walls, and even caught in the textured ceiling. It seemed other than the staff lounge, the only direction he could go was down a long hallway past a series of offices, and the doors were left ajar, showing that even the lead researchers had left all of their work behind. Ed took note of the names on each door, scribbling them in the notebook he bothered to bring.

Further down the hallway was an open test room, and it was there that the ‘vandalism’ had occurred. Red paint dotted the walls and floor, and a step ladder nearby seemed recently used, making Ed look up to the low ceiling above him, and sure enough more arrays were painted there. It didn’t make sense for an alchemist to leave their research in such a permanent way, even as heavily coded as it was.

With a clap, Edward touched a nearby wall and imprinted an illumination array, letting the white glow reveal every detail of the meticulously painted research.

Then, he settled on the floor and began his work.

 

It wasn’t long before he was interrupted, or at least it hadn’t felt like long. Edward had just managed to figure out the cypher for one wall, and was studiously transcribing it in his notebook when Alphonse walked in.

“Oh wow, it’s more than I imagined,” He said, and Edward looked up in surprise, not having heard his brother approach at all, “Have you gotten anything out of it yet? From the pictures I couldn’t make sense of anything.”

Ed nodded, waving his brother over with his notepad, “Got the cypher for the first wall here, but the second wall must use a different code, because it doesn’t make any sense,” He explained, and his brother knelt beside him, careful not to get his pants dusty, while Ed had flopped down carelessly, “It’s something elemental, but it's not water, and I can’t find any terra sigils either.”

Alphonse frowned, tilting his head to look at what Edward had down, “It’s not… fire, is it?”

Ed had been grinding his teeth for the past half hour trying not to think about that, and his jaw ached, “I think it might have something to do with air molecules, but…”

Al sighed and sat beside him, “You have an extra pen?”

Ed grinned and handed one over.

 

They were at it all afternoon, and they got far enough to have their suspicions confirmed. The arrays were an attempt at fire alchemy, and some of the notes mentioned Mustang by title, implying that the alchemist responsible was trying to emulate his work specifically. It seemed though, that halfway through the researcher made some changes, headed in a different direction, and that’s where the coding got ten times more confusing.

“This section is the same code, but backwards and alternating between the two methods used for that wall over there,” His little brother noted, scribbling in a journal he had left to buy as soon as he realised he’d be there for a while, “It just changes halfway down the wall to something completely different.”

“Same with here…” Edward said, staring intently on a small series of test arrays, clearly set up to show the process the alchemist went through to get to the resulting array.

Even the arrays were drawn in a code, which was rather rare. Most alchemists hid their final product, but this guy seemed to have faith in his ability to code his arrays so heavily that no one would be able to make any sense of them.

“I’m getting hungry,” Al sighed, and tucked his notes into his jacket, “I left Winry at the Hughes’s, and she’s probably wondering what’s taking me so long…”

Ed waved a hand, “Go on ahead, I’m just going to finish up-”

“Oh, no, I’ve heard that one before,” Alphonse walked over and took the pen right from Ed’s hand, “You’re coming for dinner, and you’ll be back in the morning.”

Ed frowned, “I almost have this array figured out! I can’t leave right now, my brain won’t be able to pick up where I left off.”

“Yes you will, brother,” Al turned to lead the way out, waving the only pen Ed had in the air, “I know you’re hungry!”

 

When the cab came to a stop outside the familiar townhouse, there was an extra car in the driveway, and Ed heaved a melodramatic sigh, “For fuck’s sake, Al-”

“Brother!” Al snagged the back of his jacket when he stepped back towards the cab, and hauled him up the walkway, “Don’t start thinking I planned this, because I didn’t, and you’re having dinner with us anyway because you can’t keep acting like such a brat!”

Edward’s frown was closer to a pout, and he shook Al’s hand off when they let themselves inside, “My brattiness is entirely justified.” He kicked off his shoes and smelled Gracia’s famous quiche.

“In your own brain, maybe,” Winry appeared with Elicia in tow, dressed in a ballerina’s tutu and slippers, but with fairy wings and a crown as well, “Even Elicia doesn’t throw tantrums like this anymore.”

Elicia shook her head, “I’m a good girl! Big brother, big kids don’t throw tantrums.” The eight year said, pulling him towards the living room.

“It wasn’t a tantrum.” He defended, seeing Hughes and Mustang sipping wine on the couch.

Roy raised an eyebrow at that, “The flurry of papers across my office begs to differ.”

Ed gritted his teeth and stole his glass as he walked by, “You deserved it.”

Roy glared now, standing as Ed filled the glass from the bottle on the counter, “I deserved to clean up _another_ of your messes?” He asked, and the anger in his voice came quicker and quicker with every interaction between them holding some edge of an argument, and it sparked more in Ed.

“I wouldn’t be messing up your office if I wasn’t _trapped_ in your office-” Ed gritted his teeth.

Roy raised his voice, “The assignment I gave you got you out of the office-!”

“And into a different one!”

“ _Boys_ ,” Gracia snapped, and Ed and Roy both looked over at her with wide eyes, the anger drained and was replaced by a sheepish wince, “Happy tones or I’ll have you eating last night’s leftovers instead of this delicious fresh baked quiche.” She set the steaming egg-pie on the counter and put her oven mitted hands on her hips.

“S-Sorry, Mrs. Hughes.” Ed said, avoiding even glancing at Roy.

“I apologize for raising my voice, Gracia.” Roy said, and went on to offer his help with setting the table, while Ed turned and downed his glass of wine.

Al and Winry were frowning at him, though Maes just looked amused, “Big brother, no yelling at Uncle Roy!” Elicia chastised, and Ed sat on the couch with a sigh.

“He yelled at me too, you know.”

“Daddy says Uncle Roy is your boss! You can’t yell at your boss, big brother.” Elicia settled on the big recliner between Al and Winry, and Win’s pregnant belly made them look like their own family.

“Sometimes bosses need to be yelled at.” Ed insisted, but Elicia just shook her head and pushed up her glasses.

“If you yell at your boss you deserve a spanking, big brother!”

Maes tossed his head back laughing, and Ed choked, “I’m way too old for spankings!”

“Depends on what kind,” Winry said with an all too coy smirk, and Ed’s face burned with his blush, “With how you’re acting though, I’d say a spanking is the right punishment.”

Maes could not contain himself, “You hear that, Roy?” He called towards the dining room, and Ed smacked his arm with wide eyes.

“Shut up, Hughes!”

“No hitting!” Elicia shouted.

Winry clicked her tongue, “That’s another spanking, Ed.”

Edward stood up from the couch with a huff, “I don’t deserve this!”

The adults all laughed at him, though Elicia seemed to have lost interest in the conversation, and went back to her teddy bear.

“What was that, Maes?” Roy raised an eyebrow, poking his head into the living room, and Edward waved his hands.

“Nothing!” He glared over his shoulder, “If any of you say a word I’ll transmute your hair bright green!”

They were too busy laughing at him to say anything, and luckily Gracia saved him with the announcement that dinner was ready.

 

The quiche was amazing, and Edward was too busy stuffing his mouth with three servings to get into another argument with Mustang. The wine had tempered his anger as well, and for the moment, the sound of Roy’s voice wasn’t as infuriating as it had been the past weeks.

Delicious food couldn’t distract him from the alchemy though, and his brain started running through what he remembered of the decoded array.

The only problem was it didn’t make sense with the notes surrounding it. The array was clearly half ignition, half direction of air molecules, and the notes had described a series of tests with _fluid_ combustibles. Whether the array was misplaced as part of the coding itself, or whether it was placed because the runes could be interchanged for use with different materials was a mystery, and one Ed had to solve or the bigger mystery would go unsolved. If the array could be easily swapped out with other runes and forms, it would explain the weird bits of arrays thrown in amongst the notes.

Then again, the array as Edward saw it wouldn’t even work right. It was too overcomplicated, too autonomous for working with something as unstable as air molecules. All Ed could imagine it doing is producing a short burst of flames, and this was the part of the research that was supposed to mimic Mustang’s alchemy. The amount of control with that is all left to the will of the alchemist, whereas this array is precise down to the amount of material transmuted.

“Brother, can I take your plate?”

Ed blinked and realised he had been pushing the last bit of food around, lost in thought, “Yeah, thanks.”

Al just smiled, and Ed grabbed the notebook from his coat as his brother walked away. The array was written somewhere in his own disjointed notes, and the mystery boggled his mind.

Then, Mustang’s voice caught his ear, and with a little reluctance, Edward conceded that the flame alchemist himself may be a better resource than the bits of information concerning this area of alchemy Ed had stored in his brain.

So, Ed slapped the notebook in front of Roy, startling the man out of his conversation, “What do you make of this?” Ed asked, and Mustang blinked between him and the array.

Even Hughes seemed surprised, and Ed realised he had probably never asked Roy for help with alchemy before, “Are you asking for my help?” Roy asked, and though Ed expected him to immediately gloat and spout condescensions, he just sounded genuinely shocked.

Edward smothered the urge to roll his eyes, and nodded. Roy blinked at him again, and then looked back down at the array before him. Ed could see the exact moment comprehension hit him, and Roy’s face pinched with apprehension.

“This is… interesting,” He started, though he looked more unsettled than curious, and ran a thumb over the array, “It’s faulty, more of a demonstrative array than anything useful,” He looked up at Ed with a seriousness in his expression, “Is it all flame alchemy?”

Edward nodded, and turned some pages in the notebook, “Trying to emulate you specifically,” He said, motioning to a section of notes, “Whoever this is has seen your alchemy in action, and mentioned you earlier in their research, but around here, they changed up their focus, and I don’t know what they’re trying to do.”

Roy read over the notes, “This here,” He tapped a pie slice of an array that Ed had no idea where to fit into the research, “It can fit into the array here,” Roy flicked back to the full array, “It’s a modular array. These functions can be interchanged here, and tied in through the base form.”

Ed nodded along as Roy spoke, explaining more of the alchemy specifics, and tying together all the pieces Ed just couldn’t make sense of. He felt bad for underestimating him. He had expected some insight, but Mustang was filling in every gap Ed had had so far.

The way he spoke about it, too. It was the kind of confidence that came so easy, intelligence that flowed in every word. Edward couldn’t pretend it wasn’t attractive, intelligence was always attractive, and the way Roy relaxed into it, the utter absorption when explaining to Ed the ratios and formulas and why you couldn’t just piece these together and have a functioning array—Ed lost himself in it. It was a nice reprieve from the constant battle between them, and to hear that deep voice, smooth as silk instead of rough with anger, well, that was nice too.

The next time Ed looked up, the table was empty except for the two of them, had been for a while probably, and Alphonse stepped into the dining room, “Brother, Winry and I are going to head home now,” He looked between him and Roy, “Are you… staying?”

Roy straightened up a bit, and Ed shook his head, grabbing the notebook as he stood, “No, no, I’m ready to go,” He said, and glanced to Roy, who finished the last of his wine with a strange expression on his face, “Thanks for the help,” Roy’s eyebrows rose, his dark eyes a little wide, “I’ll be at the lab all day tomorrow, but I’ll stop by the office if I get another array done.”

Roy smiled without any snark, and Ed blamed the wine for the colour in his cheeks, and the warmth in his chest, “You’re welcome. Be sure to call if anything in the notes indicates who the alchemist is.”

Ed nodded and glanced around, “Right, well,” He turned to follow Alphonse out, a small wave over his shoulder, “Night, Mustang.”

“Goodnight, Edward.”

He must be more buzzed than he thought, because the way he said his name made a shiver run down his spine, and Ed really should quit while he’s ahead.

More goodbyes were said to Gracia and Hughes, and it appeared Elicia had already went up to bed. Winry was slipping into her shoes in the walkway, and Ed did the same.

“Wow, brother, a whole hour and I don’t think I heard you call him bastard once.” Al teased as they started the walk home.

Ed shoved his hands in his pockets, glaring around, “He was too busy being an actual alchemist to piss me off, I guess.”

Al laughed, “Still, I think that’s a record.”

Ed kicked a stone across the pavement ahead of them, and fell quiet.

It was a record, it had to be. Over the years, Ed’s sure he hasn’t had an amicable conversation with the man that ran that long. It was—nice. Really nice. Another glimpse at the Roy Mustang that Ed actually liked.

The Roy that spoke about alchemy, _his_ alchemy, with a distant layer of sadness in his eyes, because you can’t explain how to arrange air molecules into the best form for the best explosion without experience of _doing_ such a thing. The Roy that knew the damage these arrays could cause. The Roy that wanted nothing more than to never have to see that damage again. That Roy he had much in common with, and a deep seated respect for.

Edward knows all too well the amount of guilt it takes to dedicate your life to something, and he knows that Roy would die for his cause. It’s unfortunate, really, that Edward both hates and likes having Roy worry over him. He hates that he’s bored out of his mind, he hates being treated like a glass doll, or an incompetent rookie, and he hates that Roy’s feeling—whatever it is exactly that he’s feeling, because it can’t be good.

But he likes knowing Roy cares about him. It’s selfish and stupid, but it means he _means_ something. Something more than a protégé to fetch promotions. Something more than a damage report and a repair bill. Ed doesn’t want people worrying over him, especially when he can handle his shit, and has been for long enough that a few cracked ribs really is nothing to worry about.

He’s been _impaled_ for fuck’s sake!

But it’s nice to know that the bastard really is just trying to keep him safe.

Edward smothers a sigh as the trio walks up to their shared apartment.

He’ll think about it tomorrow.

 

Tomorrow is spent in the rundown laboratory starting at the crack of dawn. There’s a guard at the gate this time, which means Mustang must've posted him, and as annoying as that is, there's nothing Ed can do about it. He flashes his watch as he walks by, and the man waves him in.

He had filled a good bit more of his notebook with Mustang last night, and so he brought his book bag and packed a lunch too. Winry has a doctor’s appointment later that day, and so Alphonse says he probably won’t be by the lab to help him, but Edward didn’t really expect him to, in any case. All he really needs to do is decipher the rest of the notes and take them to Roy to figure out.

Then there’s catching the ‘vandal’ that did this, though Ed’s sure the charge will be higher than vandalism. The military doesn’t really take kindly to weaponised alchemy developed outside of their labs.

It’s not the work Ed prefers doing, not as impactful as he’s used to, but it’s more interesting than he had expected it to be. He never had an interest in learning flame alchemy, well, aside from when he was 15 and wanted to rub it in Mustang’s face that he really was just a one trick pony.

That had ended with singed eyebrows, and Edward never tried again.

This flame alchemy was different anyway, and sharply turning towards explosive alchemy, like Kimblee’s. Just as dangerous as Roy’s, and with even less brain power needed. Luckily none of the arrays he’s seen so far have been much cause for concern.

Edward glanced to the array that seemed to be the final product, painted meticulously over the ceiling. All he needed was to finish the notes, then he could erase all this research with a clap of his hands, and hope it was never put to use.

 

Hours later, his hand is cramping with the last few notes deciphered from the floor, and Ed’s brain feels leaden. He’s been sneezing more too, and he dropped half his sandwich on the floor, so he’s hungry too.

Just as he’s about to call it quits and take what he has to the office, there’s a metallic click behind him, impossible to miss.

Ed’s head raises slowly, but he doesn’t dare look behind him. He can picture the revolver that produced the sound, and panic is a cold shiver running over him.

“Stand up,” A gruff voice says behind him, and Ed swallows, doing what he’s told.

Arrays flash in his mind, walls he can put between him and that gun, a cage for the man that he hopefully couldn’t explode his way out of.

“Toss me that notebook.”

Ed shuts his eyes and throws the notebook across the room, the opposite direction of the man, and far away from himself. The man walks to pick it up with some grumbling, and when he comes into view, Ed see’s his face covered with a dark blue scarf, hair hidden under a hat, but there’s age in his eyes, and he keeps the gun fixed on Edward as he walks.

The man picks up the notebook, and when he bends down, Edward claps and drops to the ground, transmuting a box to rise from the ground and surround him. It’s up before the man can do anything more than startle in surprise, and Ed hears a coughing fit from inside the box.

“I can get your sentence reduced if you give me the cipher for the rest of this!” He says, which is probably a lie, he really doesn’t think the court will care whether this guy hands over his research now or not, “Really, just give yourself up and you might only get a few years for vandalism.”

There’s a beat of silence, Ed steps forward, and then the walls of his transmuted jail cell explode with a flash and possibly the loudest noise he’s ever heard. The blast knocks him back with the rubble, his head taking a few good hits in the tumble, and he’s sure to have cracked open a few of the fractures in his ribs. The man is hacking up a lung now, with the dust and debris thick in the air. Edward feels blood dripping from his forehead, and when he stands he feels more than a little unsteady on his feet.

A gunshot cracks through the air, and Ed dives out of the way, dust and grime covering him, and he narrowly avoids the next shot. “You won’t make it out of here to plead my case to the court!” The man shouts with a wet cough, “Stand still, dog! Aren't you prepared to die for your military?”

He claps before giving the man another chance, and his transmutation is rough, the array he pictured falling apart in his addled head, but it works, trapping the man in a mold against the wall.

Ed’s only mistake is leaving his hands free.

He remembers watching the flash at the end of the revolver, remembers the moment of all encompassing stillness, of cold shock, before the pain takes hold.

His legs give out, eyes wide on the dark hole in his side, and another explosion shakes the entire building. He knows the man is getting away, knows he took down half of the lab itself, if the sunlight bathing him now is anything to go by.

Past that, Ed’s thoughts are _pain, Pain,_ **_Pain, PAIN_** **.** Searing, burning, shredding, throbbing pain through his stomach. Dark blood drips to the ground beneath him, and it’s thick and sticky over his shaking fingers.

“F-Fuck, fuck,” He spits, nausea rising bile in his throats, but he manages to swallow it down.

_Need to get up, need to get out, need to keep pressure._

He’s trying to cover the wound, but as soon as he touches the hole in his side, a fresh agony bares it’s teeth, and his gasp is choked in his throat. It feels as though the explosion never stopped shaking him, adrenaline coursing through his veins. The ground is so unsteady beneath him, his flesh hand is cradles against his side, putting a pressure on the wound that is _gushing_ through his fingers, and his automail is a fist against the floor.

_Need to get up, need to get out, need to keep pressure._

It doesn’t seem to be doing anything, though, and his heart is doing a very terrifying sort of chugging in his chest. His ears are ringing, his legs shake when he goes to stand, and the contraction of muscles in his abdomen tears pain through him.

He’s been impaled, he can handle this. He’s been sliced, he’s been beat, he’s been crushed under the weight of an entire building. He’s never been shot, but he’s had worse. He can make it out of this, he _has to_ , except he can’t feel an exit wound, and his hands are too shaky to dig the bullet out, and there’s no way he can alchemically seal it inside, and-

_Need to get up, need to get out, need to keep pressure._

Then there are sirens. Through the panic and the blood rushing in his ears, he can hear sirens. They’re far away now, but it’ll be minutes before they’re here.

His vision sways, and he takes his hand off of the wound long enough to clap and transmute his shirt in a tight wrap around his stomach. The pain from that claws a scream from him, and he falls to his uninjured side with his every breath growing shallower.

He lays there for what feels like hours. He counts the seconds in his rapid heartbeats, and doesn’t close his eyes until the sirens are loud enough.

The last thing he remembers thinking, is that Mustang is going to be _pissed_.

 

——————

 

Alphonse was in the lobby with Winry when the nurses all came running. The waiting room fell silent in curiosity, and then sirens cut through the air with the squeal of brakes. There were shouts, and the doors were held open, the paramedics urging everyone out of the way with a stretcher bursting through the doors like a battering ram.

He blinks as they run past and he gets a glimpse of the very familiar face on the stretcher.

“Brother!” He shouts, taking off in a sprint after them.

Edward’s eyes are closed, his face pale, covered in dirt, and there is more blood than Al has ever seen in one place staining his side. The panic on the doctor’s face is terrifying, and Alphonse’s world spins around him.

“You can’t come back here!” One of the nurses shouts, grabbing him as he runs past.

There are already tears in his eyes, “Th-That’s my brother! I-I-I have to-”

“There’s nothing you can do,” She pushes him when he tries to press past her, “The doctors can handle it, you have to let them work!”

“No, no, no, no-” Tears stream down his face, and Winry’s hand on his shoulder pulls him into a hug, “I-I don’t understand.”

She’s crying too, and the nurse guides them back to the lobby.

One moment he had been arranging a follow up appointment for his pregnant girlfriend, and the next he sees his brother bleeding out on a stretcher. It feels as though the floor dropped out from underneath his feet.

“Stay here, and I’ll make sure they know you’re his family.” The nurse says, but Alphonse head is buried in his hands, and he can’t bring himself to thank her.

“I-I-I don’t understand,” Winry sniffled, “I thought he was just making notes!”

Alphonse shook his head, feeling sick to his stomach, and every time he closed his eyes he saw Ed’s lifeless face, his bloodstained clothes cut from his side, and all that _blood_. Was he shot? Was he stabbed? Did he trip and fall onto a bear trap?!

“It-It must’ve been the alchemist,” His words were rough, and he coughed, “He must’ve found out his research had been discovered and-” His throat closed up, and fresh tears stung in his eyes, dripping onto his lap, “I-I need to call General Mustang.”

Winry shook her head, “I’ll call, you stay here. In case the nurse comes back.”

Al nods, and wipes his face, “Th-Thank you.”

Win sniffles and kisses his forehead before walking over to the receptionist. Al watches her being led to another desk, and it’s just when she starts speaking into the phone that the nurse is back.

“You said you were his brother?” Al nods and stands up, wringing his hands, “I won’t ask you for paperwork right now, but we need your names, his age, and if you know of any allergies to medications he may have,”

Al answered her, watching her scribble on a clipboard.

“Well, Alphonse, all I know right now is that your brother has a bullet wound in his side, and some minor head trauma,” Al’s face crumples, and he feels Winry stopping at his side, “The doctor I spoke to said he had a steady pulse, and it looks like the bullet missed any major organs, but he’ll be in surgery for a while, and we really won’t know more until that’s over.”

“Thank you.” He says, feeling fresh anxiety grip his chest.

“I have your name on file, and the nurses will keep you updated if anything changes.”

Al nods, and when he sits back down in the rickety lobby chairs, his shoulders shake, “I-I spoke to the general,” Winry says, and they cling to each other with shaky hands, “H-He said that he’d be here soon, but he hung up before I could say anything else.”

“Oh, brother…” Al sniffled, rubbing at his eyes.

“He’ll be okay,” Winry whispered, leaning into his side, and he wrapped his arms around her, “He has to be.”

 

It’s only a few minutes later that General Mustang is there, and he walks in looking awfully lost, his hair pushed up and out of his face like he had spent the entire car ride with his head in his hands, and Al catches his eye before the receptionist can question him.

“W-What happened?” Roy asks, sounding as though he had ran all the way here.

“I don’t know exactly,” Al looked to his lap, and Winry pulled his hand to her lips, “The-The nurse said he w-was shot,” Roy sinks down in the closest chair, and Al is honestly surprised at the sharp fear in his eyes, barely contained, “We were standing at the counter making an appointment when an ambulance pulled up, and the paramedics ran by with brother on a stretcher, and-” Al shut his eyes against the sting of tears, “They said the bullet might have missed his major organs. S-Something about minor head trauma too.”

He couldn’t keep talking about it, because the truth was anything could happen now, and no one knew the specifics, and it was too terrifying to even consider what the worst case scenario would look like-

“He’s in surgery now,” Winry said, her head laid over Al’s shoulder, “They said it’s gonna be a while.”

Roy ran a hand down his face, looking pained for a moment before he cleared the expression, and then it was guilt twisting in his eyes, “I…” His eyes narrowed on the tile floor, “I’m so sorry…”

Al’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and he’s speechless for a moment, “General… you have nothing to apologise for.”

Roy stood, movements sharp and abrupt as he turned away, “Right, well, I need to call Major Hawkeye, excuse me.”

They watch him walk to the receptionist, and though General Mustang is very good at putting on his indifferent façade, it's obvious to anyone who knows him just how upset he is. Alphonse had expected it, but not like this. His apology seemed so out of place, and Al knew it wasn't a consolation or sympathy, it was guilt. Somehow Roy had gotten it in his head that this was his fault, and Al was shocked to see it so clearly.

It's almost like…

“H-He’s really upset…” Winry said, voice hushed.

Al watched Roy put a hand on his face as he spoke into the phone, leaning on the tall counter with his elbow supporting him. His expression was torn, and Al could see him nod, speak, shut his eyes, and clear his face again.

“Yeah…”

Al didn't know what else to say. It was obvious in recent months, and especially in the past few weeks, that the general cares far more about Edward than he ever showed before. Alphonse didn't know what had changed. It wasn't news, really; everyone in their little group got closer after the promise day. The office was more of a hangout spot on some days, and it wasn't rare to see the general at dinner with the Hughes's. They would go out for drinks together, spend birthday parties and Christmas parties together. Central City was more of a home than ever with friends that felt more like family around, everywhere you turned.

But the animosity between brother and the general didn't go _away_. It changed, sure, and Al could see the softening in his brother's expression halfway through a conversation with Roy, at the point when teasing and condescension was forgotten. They irked each other to no end, but when the pretenses were dropped, the foundation of a solid friendship emerged from the rubble.

When it had changed to this, Alphonse just didn't know.

They sat there in the lobby for hours. Mr. Hughes showed after another phone call was made, and he informed them Gracia would stay home with Elicia until there was more definite news. The sky outside blushed and darkened, and the silence between them all was tense. Maes and Roy stepped outside, and it appeared with Maes there, Roy was feeling a little better. After five, the rest of the office showed up, giving Alphonse some much needed hugs before giving their phone numbers and insisting they be called as soon as brother is able to have visitors.

Al knows that will probably be tomorrow, but he will break down every door between him and Ed if they try to say he can't see him after the surgery.

It isn't until ten o'clock at night that a nurse approaches them. Winry startles awake from his shoulder, and the general stands from his seat.

“Alphonse?” Al stands too, nodding and wiping his clammy hands on his pants, “Your brother is out of surgery, and sleeping right now. Dr. Brenner said it went perfectly, and he should wake up soon. She'll be able to explain more in a moment, but I can take you to his room now if you'd like.”

“Y-Yes,” Al clears his throat and nods, feeling himself now jittery with relief, of all things, “Can my wife come with?” He says wife, but they haven't gotten around to getting married yet. Still, with a baby on the way, there's no difference.

“Yes, of course,” The nurse glances to Roy and Maes, “He'll be able to take visitors tomorrow, but right now, family only.”

There's a look on Roy's face when Al glances back, and he feels a pang of sympathy, but the general nods and sits back down before Al can think of an excuse for him to come as well.

They're led down a series of halls, and Al doesn't bother to remember every twist and turn. There is a buzzing in the halls, and a constant chatter like white noise. It blends the minutes together and then there is a doctor waiting outside room number 113.

“Hello, Mr. Elric, I'm Dr. Olivia Brenner,” She begins, and goes on to explain in a calm, steady voice just how well the surgery went. They patched up his lower intestine, and fixed a nick on one of his kidneys. She explains just how amazingly lucky brother was that the bullet hadn't hit an inch to the left, or it would've shattered a vertebra and possibly paralysed him for life. There are technical terms he forgets as soon as he hears them, his thoughts clutching the mantra of, _he lived, he's fine, I didn't lose him, he lived_.

“You're welcome to stay overnight, though the medication he's on will most likely keep him asleep until morning. If he does wake up, please let a nurse know,” Dr. Brenner said, and gave a small smile, “Your brother is incredibly strong, and I'm sure with a couple months rest, he'll be back to normal.”

“Thank you so much, doctor.”

She opened the door for them with a small smile, “I'll be back tomorrow for a check up, feel free to spend the night.”

They walked into the dark hospital room, and the stillness made Al's skin crawl. There, tucked between crisp white sheets and propped up on two pillows, his brother was sleeping soundly. The only light was cast from the window, and even in the dimness Alphonse could see his brother's cheeks were pallor, dull and lifeless, almost. His eyes were shadowed, his lips parted, and every slow rise and fall of his chest brought more relief to Al's troubled head.

Winry sat with him, pushing Ed's long bangs from his face with her lower lip shaking, “Oh, what have you gotten yourself into this time, Ed?” She whispered, eyes shining

Al took his hand and brushed his thumb over the steady pulse at his wrist.

The night went on, and he fell asleep to the sight and sound of his brother's soft breathing and wondered if either of them would ever get some peace.

 

Alphonse woke in the middle of the night to the sound of retching and gasping, and his eyes shot open to see Edward doubled over and puking all over the floor on the other side of the bed.

“Brother!” He reached out, steadying Edward's heaving shoulders, patting his back and holding his hair.

Pain was etched into every line of his face, eyes scrunched shut and spit dripping from his mouth, “Uuhuhh, h-hurts…” He groaned, wiping his mouth and falling back to the bed with his arms cradling his stomach.

Winry was already on her feet, “I-I’ll go get the nurse.” Her words stick together with sleep and Al thanked her as she bolted out of the room as fast as a pregnant woman could waddle. It was kind of adorable, but he didn't have time to think about that.

“I'm sorry, brother, the nurse will have medicine, just relax,” Al pushed Ed's hair from his face, trying to soothe and comfort, and Ed's hand came to grip his forearm, “I'm right here, brother, everything is fine. You made it, the surgery went great, you're going to be fine.”

Ed's eyes cracked open, and he squeezed his hand around Al's arm, “M’sorry, Al, I'm so sorry…” He was almost crying now, and Al felt a fresh sting in his eyes.

“It's okay, I love you so much, brother. I'm so glad you're okay,” He wiped years from Ed's face and his own, “I was here when the ambulance brought you in, I watched them wheel you through to surgery, I—and I was in the lobby the whole time, I was right there.”

“Love you too,” Ed turned his face into the pillow, a wince shaking his expression and his automail gripped the side of the hospital gown, “F-Fuck.”

Before Al could say any words of comfort the door opened and a familiar nurse stepped in with Winry a step behind.

After that, Edward was like a ragdoll in the bed. The nurse gave him water, cleaned up the mess on the floor, gave him another dose of medicine, and told him to get rest. Edward didn’t let go of Al’s hand for a single second, and though Alphonse was exhausted, he didn’t dare shut his eyes, as if Ed could disappear from in front of him at any moment.

“Y-You guys don’t gotta stay,” Ed rasped, and pushed his bangs from his face, “M’just gonna sleep ‘nyway.”

Alphonse opened his mouth to say how ridiculous it was to suggest he _leave_ , but Winry was yawning and rubbing her belly, and his heart tugged in two directions, “Brother…”

“S’riously, Al,” Ed coughed and winced, his automail never straying from the spot on his side Al was sure the wound was, “Pregnant ladies need rest.”

Winry glared, “So do people who just got out of surgery to fix a _bullet wound_.” She said, but her scold was undermined by the wide yawn she gave immediately after.

Al squeezed his brother’s hand and sighed, “I-I really don’t wanna leave you here all alone…” But his bed sounded nice, and the relief from the stress of this night was making it hard to keep his eyes open.

“I’m fine now, Al, really,” Ed squeezed back and gave a strained smile, “Go get some sleep so you can come first thing in the morning.”

Winry opened her mouth to argue, but Al was already standing, “We’ll be right down the street at the Hughes’s, okay?” Al promised, and Win looked surprised, but was clearly too tired to argue.

“Mr. Hughes is still here,” Win said, rubbing her eyes and leaning into Al’s side, “He’s asleep on General Mustang’s shoulder.”

Al was surprised either of them had stuck around, knowing the nurse had told them that Ed was asleep and probably wouldn’t wake until morning, “Why’re they still here?” Ed asked, pushing himself up a little more on the pillows, and giving a wince.

Alphonse remembered the look on Roy’s face when the nurse had given them the news that the surgery had gone well, and he smiled, “General Mustang’s been here since we have, really,” He said, and Ed looked away, staring at the wall, “He was… I’ve never seen him look so scared.”

Except that wasn’t quite true, but this was a different kind of terror than Al had seen when the general had tumbled through the gate and lost his eyesight.

Edward put his flesh hand over his face, but Al could see the crease between his eyebrows, “W-Will they let him back here?” He asked, muffled in his palm and sounding choked up.

Al smiled again, a happier smile this time, and put a hand on Winry’s back, “I’ll make up something, but you need to sleep, brother.”

Ed ran his hand down his face and turned his head to face them, smiling too, “Yeah, yeah, think those meds’re finally kickin’ in,” He took a measured breath and didn’t wince this time, his eyes closing, “Tell the bastard to wake me up, though.”

“I won’t,” Al says as he walks away, and his brother is too tired to open his eyes, but he pouts still, “Goodnight brother, we love you.” He adds, and says ‘we’ because Winry is just about asleep on her feet.

Ed hums, “Love y’too…”

In the hall, Al tries to remember which way to go, thankful for the signs on the ceiling to guide him through the maze of halls. Win mumbles something to him, Al can feel her leaning more and more weight onto him, and when they’re in the lobby, he has to remind her to walk. There he sees Maes snoring open mouthed with his head leaned back on the wall now, and Roy is blinking slowly at the ceiling.

They walk over, and that gets the general’s attention, making him startle and look up at them in confusion that had fear bleeding in, “Is everything okay?” He asks, and Maes snorts awake beside him, rubbing his eyes and blinking around.

“Everything’s fine. Brother woke up and needed some medicine, but he’s asleep again now,” He explains, and Roy nods, “He told us to go get some rest and come back in the morning. Your house is closer, Mr. Hughes, would you mind if we stayed over?”

Maes shook his head and cleared his throat, “No, not at all,” He said, and looked over at Roy with an eyebrow raised, “You wanna take the couch?”

Roy shook his head, looking to the floor, “No, I’m fine.” By that he means he’s going to stay, and Al smiles.

“It’s much easier to sleep in brother’s room,” Roy looks up at him with his eyes slightly wide, and Al can see him tense and swallow, and his smile widens, “He asked if you would be allowed to go to his room, and I really would feel better if someone was there to keep an eye on him.”

Maes was smiling now too, and Roy glanced between them before nodding and attempting to straighten his expression, “I-Of course I will, I-” He took a deep a breath and gave Al a small smile, “I appreciate it, Alphonse…”

Al smiled and nodded, guiding Winry to a chair, “Let me go talk to the nurse.”

Roy shifted in his seat, and Maes whispered something over to him that earned him a punch to the shoulder.

It took some convincing, and some tired puppy dog eyes, but eventually the nurse relented and said she’d list Roy as extended family, and led him through the halls. He honestly looked like he was about to drop, and Al knew that both him and brother would feel better if they were a little closer.

Al smiled to himself in the back of Maes’s car. What an odd little love story.

 

——————

 

Edward dreamed of the gate.

It wasn’t such an odd occurrence, really, but this time Truth was telling him this was the last mistake he’d ever make. It dug it’s dark tendrils into his side, and the pain was so sharp, so vivid, that he didn’t have a bit of brainpower to realise he was dreaming. Usually he knows that he would never do anything bad enough to get him sent there again, and he can try to wake himself up. But the hands that had torn him apart so many times, now searched his wound for the bullet, and Truth said; _I can’t find it, do you know what that means little alchemist? You’re here to stay this time, you’ve made your last mistake, little alchemist._

He wakes after that, but not enough to open his eyes. The medicine they gave him was stronger this time around, now that they knew he woke up so soon after the last dose. So though the dream fades, his thoughts conjure more abstract images, laced with emotions thrown in his face. He sees arrays and feels terror, and he sees some flashes of Mustang’s face and feels someone holding his hand.

In the hazy daze of medically induced slumber, Ed can’t keep track of time, and when the bite in his side starts to amp up again, his thoughts start to get a little more clarity. He hears birds, but it’s dark against his eyelids. The bed beneath him is warm and comforting, but there is no way he can keep sleeping with the scratchy sheets, and the chirping getting louder and louder, and then he hears a sigh outside of himself, and his eyes open.

Mustang is sitting in a chair and laid half over the bed, passed out with his hair pushed out of his face and messy, and he’s holding Ed’s hand under his cheek with both hands.

Ed’s eyes go wide, face burning, and his heart suddenly picks up in his chest.

Roy looks absolutely adorable. So relaxed and disheveled, his uniform jacket laid over his shoulders like a blanket, and his sleeves are unbuttoned and pushed up, and Ed can feel him breathing against his arm. He remembers asking Al to tell Mustang to wake him up, but that’s really the last thing he remembers from waking up in the middle of the night. He had felt so dizzy and nauseous from the meds, and he had been so tired-

Roy stirs, taking a deep breath and blinking his eyes open slowly. Ed realises he had been staring, and that Mustang is still holding his hand, and he can see Mustang realise those same things as he sits up, eyes wide.

“Y-You’re awake,” He states, voice rough with sleep but he sounds so happy, and his eyebrows tip up in a way that makes him look young and not so sleep deprived, “I-I should get a nurse, I-”

Ed grips his hand, “W-Wait, don’t,” He shifts, and Roy blinks at him, eyes darting down to their joined hands, “I-I’m fine right now, I don’t need the nurse doping me up again.”

Roy relaxes a little, and Ed’s chest constricts when Roy runs his thumb back and forth over his hand, “It doesn’t hurt?”

Ed shrugs and looks away, “Sure it does,” He tries to sit up a little more, but the muscles it takes is too much, “Shit—C-Could you…?”

Roy nods and moves to help him sit up a bit more, “Are you sure you should be sitting up?” He’s leaning over him to pull up a pillow, and Ed can smell his cologne.

Ed is only halfway to sitting, and the pillows help greatly, “It doesn’t hurt, so sure.”

Roy’s hands brush his shoulders when he draws back, and he’s looking Ed over so carefully that Ed can almost feel the burn of the magnifying glass, “You had us all really worried, Edward,” He sits back down, licks his lips and stares down at his feet, “What happened?” He looks back up, and the pain in his eyes is almost too much to bear, but Ed can’t look away.

“The guy—the alchemist, he broke in, past the guard somehow,” Ed grips the fabric over his bandages, cringing at the memory, “I couldn’t see his face, he had it covered in some sort of scarf, and when I transmuted a box around him, he blew himself out of it,” Roy’s eyes dart up to the bandage around Ed’s forehead, “He shot a couple times, but I dodged ‘em, and then I-I thought I had ‘im. Stuck him in a wall, but the array didn’t go right, and his hands were free,” His side twinges, and his teeth grind, “He shot and I couldn’t get out of the way in time, and then he blew his way out… I’m guessing you guys haven’t caught him?”

Roy shook his head, “That wasn’t really a priority.” His tone is dry, and the words are rough, and Ed feels bad for asking.

They sit in silence for a minute, avoiding eye contact. Edward doesn’t really know what to say. He’s never seen Mustang so openly upset about anything. At least not like this, not when it wasn’t irritation or some variation thereof. This was Roy not bothering to hide any of his worry, or hurt, or fear, it was raw and honest, and Ed was overwhelmed.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, when the silence drags on too long.

Roy shakes his head slowly, “You have nothing to apologise for, you-”

“No, no, for-for what I said—last time we were here.”

Roy takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes for a long moment, and when he opens them, he reaches over and grabs Ed’s hand with both of his, “There’s really nothing I can do to keep you safe, huh?” He says, and Ed’s heart strings pull taut, “I try, I really do, I always have, please believe that. I-It just seems like no matter what I do you end up here, and I can’t stand it anymore, Edward. Every mission I give you,” His hands squeeze and his head falls, face crumpling, “Every damn one has you fighting for your life and nursing wounds, and I really can’t _fucking_ take it anymore.”

Ed can’t breathe, and then it takes all his focus not to gasp, “Mustang-”

“Edward, I’m sorry,” He looks up at him, _pleading_ , “I’m sorry for every broken bone, every cut and scrape and bruise and _bullet wound_ , and I’m sorry for boring you and leaving you restless and sticking you in a desk, but I would give you two promotions and your own office if it kept you out of harm’s way…”

“It’s not your fault, Mustang,” Roy shakes his head and Ed pulls on his hand, “I’m fucking serious, bastard, it’s not your fault. I would hate a promotion, and I hate paperwork almost as much as you, so-so that’s outta the question, but even if next time it’s all the same shit, that doesn’t mean it’s your fault. I get it—it’s your job as much as it is mine.”

“Edward you almost _died_ ,” Roy grips his hand so tight Ed has to fight not to wince, “Gone forever, not one more breath or blink, no goodbye, _nothing_ , do you understand?”

Ed sighs, “Yes, I understand, Mustang-”

“No, no, I don’t think you do, Edward,” Roy interrupts, and he looks away and Ed catches a shine in his eyes that steals his breath, “You don’t understand because how could you? You-You don’t understand what it would be like to _not_ be here, and you don’t understand what a hole it would be if you weren’t,” Roy shakes his head, doesn’t open his eyes like he can’t stand to look at him, “It’s selfish, I-I know…” He opens his eyes and there are tears there that break Ed’s heart, “But I want you _here_ , Ed, not two hundred miles south getting your ribs broken or _worse_ ,”

Ed opens his mouth but he can’t speak. His eyes are wide, and Roy let’s go of his hand slowly, moving to stand, “I-I should tell a nurse you’re awake.”

Ed chokes, “D-Don’t you fucking dare!” He shouts, and Roy freezes.

Edward pushes past the pain, pushes himself up and moves towards him, “Edward!”

Ed slides to the edge of the bed in front of him, his feet grazing the cold tile, “I-I’m fine,” He grits his teeth to counter the pain, and reaches out when it looks like Roy might argue. He grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him closer, looking him dead in the eye and Roy blinks fast. A single tear falls down his cheek but he looks more shocked than sad, and that’s a good thing, “I-I’m the one who's sorry, okay? I’m sorry I c-can’t sit still, and I’m sorry I get into trouble, and if life was perfect I’d have a room full of all the alchemy I wanted to research, and—" Ed swallows and musters every ounce of courage he can, "And I-I’d have _you._ But this is my job, this is how I can help you-”

“Edward-”

“Let me finish,” He snaps and glares, and Roy shuts up, “I didn’t come back to the military to catalogue some dead guy’s research, or move the couches around in your office, or decode some other guy’s research! I came back to help you, to save people, and to be whatever it is you need to win the brass over and get to the top, all right?” His hands flatten on Roy’s chest, and he can feel Roy’s heartbeat racing, can feel his breathing quicken, “I need to _do_ something with myself, get it? I need to be—revolutionary. To be Fullmetal and help this shithole country and all it’s stupid residents because otherwise, I-I’m just _Ed._ ”

He has to stop talking because his side hurts, and he takes a moment to realise this is happening, to feel how warm Roy is underneath his fingertips.

“Edward, I…” Ed has to wipe the tear from his cheek because it’s too much, “The university wants to reopen the lab,” Edward blinks, not expecting that and it throws him for a loop, “They asked for you to investigate the vandalism specifically, and spoke to me about offering you the lead researcher position when it reopens.”

Edward’s eyes widened to owlish slowly, his brain struggling to keep up with this. He has whiplash for sure, from all the feelings talk to _this_ , “I…” He doesn’t know what to say. That guy blew up the lab, and it would need some good alchemical remodeling, but if that were _his_ lab, “My contract…”

Roy shook his head, “I-I went ahead and spoke to Fuhrer Grumman, and he said he’d sign for an honorable discharge if you wanted it.”

Ed swallows, “So-So I wouldn’t be in the military anymore?” _I wouldn’t work for you anymore._  Roy nods, his hands coming to Ed’s arms and holding steady, “And w-what do they want me to do?”

“Research,” Roy said, and he smiles, “Whatever you want to research. They’d give you interns and assistants, grad students most likely. They want you to lecture, too, but you don’t have to,” Edward can’t imagine it, but his heart races, “You-You wouldn’t have just a room of research, Edward, you’d have a whole lab…” Roy licks his lips, looking almost _bashful_ , “And me, if you wanted.”

Ed pushed forward and kissed him.

Roy sighs into it, and Ed can feel the shake in his fingers when his hand brushes over his cheek. It’s more than Ed ever imagine, softer and deeper and far more tender. The pain in his side is the only thing keeping him from crawling all over him. Roy is gentle, lips moving in a slow, easy slide, and when their tongues ease into the mix, Ed can taste coffee and sleep and it’s too real right now.

When he pulls away, Ed can’t stand to be too far away, and he leans his forehead to Roy’s, keeping his eyes shut, “I want that…” He whispered, as if saying it any louder would take the offer away, “I can’t think of anything I want more.”

Roy kisses him briefly and proceeds to kiss all over his face, his hands cupping Ed’s jaw, fingers tangled in his hair. It felt like a dream, like a fantasy he spends too many nights perfecting, but it’s real and this Roy is far more tangible than any fantasy Ed could dream up.

It's a lot different from last time they were there.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> oKAY, bam, there it is. Sorry for the short cut off there at the end, I've been trying to power through that last little bit for literal months so I could post this because I've been dying to.
> 
> thanks for reading!!!!!!!!!!!!


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